Prey
by silvereyedbitch
Summary: After WTNF, they don't go after Calesta yet. Damien tries to make good on his threat to kill the Hunter. Warning: M/M, D&G, nothing explicit (sorry)


Disclaimer: Still not getting any credit for these characters. They are C.S. Friedman's wonderful creations. I just really wish she had done some more with them.

Warning: M/M, D&G, nothing explicit (sorry)

A/N: So I'm meaning this to be set right after WTNF, supposing that they hadn't decided to go after Calesta together yet. So Damien and Gerald return home by sea and each assimilate back into his own way of life. The Hunter haunts his Forest, and the priest resumes his post. The Patriarch will not have been happy to hear of the Hunter's continued existence, much less that Vryce had helped him and used him willingly. And so here is _one_ of my versions of them finally having the confrontational reckoning that Vryce had promised so long before. Not going "by the book" totally b/c I add a bit of mischief in there, as any of those who have read my previous crappy fics will be accustomed to. Enjoy!

**Prey**

Silence as thick as midwinter's ice flowed throughout the land. It was as though sound did not exist here, just an endless nothingness in which only the spirit can hear. It ran betwixt the trees, infested the soil, and permeated the air until even a person's thoughts must be audible, only that which originated internally could be heard. And in between those thoughts, a twig broke. _Damn_, Damien thought, _How am I ever gonna find him first when I'm this careless_? Damien Kilcannon Vryce froze between the shrubs he had been attempting to pass between in relative stealth. After a few moments of hyper-alertness, he forced his chilled limbs into action again slowly, gaining confidence once more as he continued on. The frozen ground he trod upon was seemingly as lifeless as its master.

He had been planning this expedition, this mission, for months. After parting ways with the Hunter after their long sea voyage together, they had each returned to their respective worlds. Vryce still felt as though he had made such progress with the man over their long months together. He could almost see a veneer of the man the Hunter used to be shining through that iron black wall that surrounded him persistently. _The constant contact with humanity has to have brought him back from the abyss_, he thought. _There has to be a way out for him_, _and I'll find it_, he thought with fierce determination. Then added, just as determinedly, _Or I'll kill him myself before he can become any more damning than he already is_. The last thought brought him great sadness, but he was now charged by the church to destroy the threat of the Forest, including its unholy maker. Vryce realized the death sentence for what it was. And he couldn't really blame the Patriarch for it. He was now seen as evil himself, and the Patriarch was only following doctrine by pitting evil against evil. _I never thought I'd live to see the day when I was abhorred by my own faith_, he thought despondently. _The only hope I have left now is to redeem the man trapped here in this monstrous form, or kill him and return as a hero, to be entrusted once again with the duties of my order._ With circular patterns of thought, he returned to this slim notion of hope over and over.

Damien looked around himself, coming out of his reverie with a quickness that sent adrenaline coursing along his blood vessels. _Dark? How long have I been walking?_ He checked the position of the sun and core, or what was left of the sun. "Shit," he said, not meaning to speak aloud but doing so anyway. _Only a half hour before there's only Corelight, and he'll be active by then._ And as he searched the area for the direction to take him back to the edge of the Forest, he stopped. There was someone, or something, residing with him now in the clearing under the darkening canopy. The feeling of being watched itched all over him. His eyes focused on the source of the aberrancy that had drawn his notice, and when they processed what was before him, he swore again, "Shit." He had forgotten that the Forest's boughs blocked enough sunlight to allow the adept to travel through it during the day if he so chose.

"You were ever the one for speeches and pretty language, priest," the Hunter taunted silkily as he stepped from the pool of darkness that had sheltered his form for the last few minutes. He did so love to observe his prey in secret. Damien had somewhat anticipated that he would never be able to approach Tarrant unawares in his own realm, but he _had_ entertained thoughts of it. He had hoped that by catching the man in surprise, he might be able to further pull forth some of the essence of the human man that was buried under centuries of violence. He had planned for all manner of encounters in fact. He had examined what he hoped was every contingency, pulling apart each scenario in order to better approach his adversary. Now, though, standing before the Prince of Jehanna, he felt completely unprepared, and not just a little foolhardy. And as the dark fae rippled and flowed out from Tarrant, the knight could feel the sheer power pouring off of the man. So dark, so evil, so focused…on him! Terror gripped at Damien's mind. _No!_ he cried out to himself. _This is just the natural effect he has on people. It's not real!_ _It's faeborn! An amplified effect of the Forest._

He fought down his urge to flee, and struggled to stare into the lightless depths of those mercurial eyes that held no discernible emotion as they gazed at him in the manner of predator towards prey. "Gerald," he began, figuring the use of his given name would help strike some memory of fellowship within the other man. But Tarrant just continued to slowly make his way towards him, never uttering a syllable or taking his eyes from Damien's. Then suddenly, the Hunter stopped within feet of the priest, an expression of slight disbelief flashed across his countenance. "You really meant to do it, didn't you?" the Hunter breathed into the twilight air. And a full Knowing hit Damien square in the face, tearing his thoughts and actions out and laying them in a neat row for Tarrant's perusal. He fought back quickly, but not before the adept found what he needed. The way Tarrant was handling him, his lack of recognition of Damien as anything but a threat…Damien realized then that there were no happy endings to be found here. There was to be no reasoning, no rational conversations. Looking into the slowly darkening eyes of his bygone traveling companion, he saw not recognition of their shared trials…Damien saw his death. As the Knowing ended, Tarrant's eyes narrowed, and he spoke coldly. "You were forewarned as to the consequences of ever attempting this, priest. Some time ago, I might have shown a form of leniency in respect for the rare qualities I believe you are possessed of. But since that mistaken Divining across the sea, I have had to take exceptional pains in appeasing my dark benefactors. I was beginning to wonder if there was anything I could possibly do to singularly amend my shortcomings in their perception." The adept paused for a moment, looking deep into Vryce's eyes, past the flesh and into his soul. Seeming to find what he sought, the Hunter continued, "I believe your sacrifice shall go a long way towards reaching this goal."

The priest stood there on the frozen ground, his options fleeing from him one by one. He was outclassed here in weaponry, especially since _he_ was the one caught unaware. And since he couldn't Work in this vicinity without being sucked into the Forest's pull, he was essentially powerless. _Unless I can outsmart him_, he thought…briefly. Reflecting again on the brilliance Tarrant had always displayed during their many conversations at sea, he then reorganized his options to three: die now, run and maybe not die, and run and die later anyway. _Great_. He forced himself to gather his courage against the rising tide of the Hunter's fae-generated fear. And as he reached the point when he thought he could speak, Tarrant stepped forward. Hands clasped behind his back, the adept made no overt threatening actions. He merely came to within inches of Damien's face, leaned in close to one side of the priest's head, and whispered a solitary word into his ear, "Run."

And Damien was slammed to ground by the potency of the fae behind that single utterance. It forced the air from his lungs, and tore away his mental defenses momentarily. And a moment is all that is necessary for the Hunter. Fear like nothing he'd ever experienced before in his life ripped through his soul as he scrambled to climb to his feet and escape. Nothing mattered more to him in that moment in time than getting way from this man, this demon. His world shrank to tunnel vision, escape vision. As he left the place of their confrontation, he heard soft laughter drifting behind him on the wind, followed by, "You know the rules; you have three nights, priest." And then he was swallowed by the darkness of the trees around him, falling to his knees several times before finally finding his stride and making some headway in distancing himself from the source of those words.

Time passed in a blur of lights and darks. Day and night were so similar underneath the thick foliage of the Forest's leafy boughs that there was no discernible "in-between" time of daylight hours in which one might catch one's breath…or stop to rebuild one's mental defenses once more and therefore break the spell of terror Damien found himself encapsulated within. There was nothing for him but periods of motion followed by periods of stillness. Hiding and fleeing. Sweat and blood both running freely at times. A few intervals during the ending of the third day, entering the third night, he nodded off while walking, jolting awake as renewed fear flowed like a river of ice through his limbs. Moving, always moving, ever pursued. Never once able to catch a full or lasting glimpse of his pursuer. A flutter of dark silk around a trunk, the flash of perfect teeth with almost delicate appearing canines elongated in clear threat of ending his escape...and always those eyes, silver as midnight stars, and just as unreachable, peering through the gloom at him. They were always there to remind him of whom he ran from, of _what_ he ran from. Truly, the Hunter seemed now so far removed from the man Damien had thought he knew, he wondered at the memories he possessed. How could he have been so misled? So gullible? He knew what the Hunter was when he had first encountered him, but somehow that knowledge and perception had escaped him over the course of his exposure to the man. _No time for this_, he cried out to himself mentally, _got to keep moving. Third night is here!_

From the cover of some not-so-distant plant life, Gerald Tarrant drank in the priest's terror. Finer than anything he had ever encountered! How utterly delicious to have spent so much time with the man that the priest could be so completely lulled into a false sense of security. Hopes held in check within the exhausted knight's heart withered one by one. And with the dying of Damien's hopes, such a brilliant array of fear, loathing, and terror shone forth that the Hunter was unsure if he would ever need to feed again after this kill. The sheer magnitude of the emotional contents of Damien Vryce's soul filled him with an almost sexual arousal. He had had bits and tastes of the other man's spirit before, but only under controlled circumstances and never to excess. Only enough to subsist on. Now, to finally be free to indulge on the build-up of this kill was wearing on him. A tremor of anticipation coursed through his tall frame, and he set himself to play some more games with his quarry. "Ahem," came a slight cough in the air beside Tarrant. He turned an irritated glance towards its source. Karril stood a few feet off to his side, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Have you something to add here, or are you merely bent on ruining my hunt?" the adept growled lightly. Karril put up both hands in a display of placation, "No, never, it's just…I had thought this particular one was 'off the menu' so to speak. What happened?" Tarrant shook the enticing thoughts of Vryce's fear out of his head for a moment. "That truce ended as we disembarked the ship. He was warned of any future contact. I cannot help that he is too stubborn in his pride and faith to see reason," Tarrant retorted. He was about to return his focus to the hunt, when he caught a strange look on the Iezu's face. "What is it? What are you hiding?" he demanded. Karril became partially insubstantial from the threatening tone directed at him. "Nothing! I hide nothing from you, my friend. I just think it's odd how you're able to feed off of fear _for yourself_." That caught the adept up short. "What? What are you talking about?" he queried, "I am not in fear of _anything_ at this particular moment." Karril attempted a shrug, saying, "The priest. His fear. It's more for _you_ than himself. He's so afraid of what's going to happen to you once you backslide completely into your old habits." The Iezu gazed off in the latest of wrong directions that Vryce had been herded into. With a satisfied and haughty smirk, Tarrant drew himself up and prepared to take off in pursuit once again. "The fault is his own for having the misperception that _I_ had ever changed in the first place. And now, he will find the price for his lapse in judgment to be very harsh indeed. My nature is now, and ever will be, as dark as that of my benefactors." With that self-assured statement, the Hunter dashed off into the undergrowth. Karril looked on after him for a few seconds with a look of philosophical consideration. He then began to fade into invisibility just as he whispered softly, "Whatever you say, old friend."

Damien knew he was almost done for, but there were only maybe 2-3 hours left before the dawn after the third night. If he could just keep moving, perhaps he could win his way free. Perhaps once he did, Tarrant may actually be amenable to speaking. Yes! And then, with that clear and focused thought, he realized something. _I'm not afraid anymore_, he thought curiously. He stopped walking and examined himself inside out. The all-permeating and all-consuming fear that had hounded him these three days and nights was gone! But before he could realize much more than that, he heard a soft voice off to his right, "Yes, I want you in your right mind and with your limited wits about you when I do this, priest. It will be so much more…pleasurable. Well, for one of us anyway," the adept said as he entered the sheltered spot.

Damien didn't know what to do at first. He stared almost unseeingly at the Hunter, his recent hopes of escape and salvation fleeing before him. Then he noticed something heavy in his own hand. Glancing down, he saw his sword, the symbol of his faith etched into the crosspiece of the blade. _How did that get there?_ he wondered. But seeing that symbol, with the interlocking circles, gave him a renewed strength and vigor. He might not be able to save himself, but perhaps he could save the world from the Hunter with the price of his death. He hefted the blade, and Tarrant looked back curiously at him, as if to say, How tired _are_ you? And then there was no more time for contemplation because he found himself closing the gap between them and bringing his blade in low.

Tarrant neatly side-stepped the blow, his inhuman reflexes making it seem all the more easily done. Damien brought the blade around as he passed by, though, hoping to surprise the other man. However, Tarrant had been fencing and sword-fighting for centuries longer than the beleaguered priest, and he merely ducked down low. Damien turned to face him again, coming in slower this time. He brought all of his skill, all of his street fighting tricks, and all of his improvisations to bear. His sword was quick, despite the nights of unrest. And his attacks were fiercely brilliant. High and low, back and forth, fall back and press forward. He threw everything he had at the evil in front of him. It was perfect. Against any human opponent, he could more than likely finish the battle quickly and neatly. His opponent, however, was not human. And this was not to be neat or quick.

Tarrant for the most part seemed to enjoy frustrating Damien for the first minute or so, dodging and turning away his hits. But as the minutes passed, Damien began to slow. Even the knight's indomitable strength and endurance was no match for the malevolent intelligence, power, and inhuman grace that the Hunter possessed. A blow came out too wide, and Tarrant knocked it aside, leaving the knight's flank wide open and vulnerable. Damien attempted to bring the sword about in some semblance of defense, but it was much too late. The Hunter had glided into his open guard and within a flurry of movements too fast for the eye to follow, he had the knight disarmed and on his knees in front of him. Damien gazed up at his conqueror, vision bleary with sweat, blood, and…tears.

Tarrant reached down and pulled the knight up by his leather vest, not even seeming to strain in the slightest with the effort. So little light was afforded him, but three nights spent here had accustomed the priest's eyes to the gloom enough to make good use of the trickles of starlight that still made their way through some portions of the treetops. Truly, Tarrant seemed to glow with an unholy light of his own. Ethereal beauty housing centuries of evil and iniquity. And all of that was focused on Damien now. The priest sent out a mental plea for forgiveness from his God. He had failed everyone. What had he even accomplished in coming here? Bracing himself for the end, he closed his eyes and continued his prayers.

Tarrant gazed down at the face of his prey, savoring the dying hope and welling despair that ran from his skin. So sweet! He breathed it in, shivering a bit despite himself. Such overwhelming sensations! He hadn't felt these sensations since his enforced copulations with Almea by his parents. Pleasures of the flesh had been enjoyable but not a mainstay or requirement of his human existence. Now, though, here, with this deliciously vulnerable soul in his arms, he felt something that went beyond that, something that was building and threatened to overwhelm his senses. And finally, filled too much with this alien and yet enticing sensation, he tilted his head quickly to the side of Vryce's neck, noting the slight cringe in the other man as he did this. He didn't want this to end too quickly, though, so he restrained himself and slowly lowered his teeth to the skin. And as his pointed canines came in contact with that vulnerable place, he heard the priest whisper, "I'm so sorry, Gerald. I failed you…I failed."

And then those teeth punctured deep into the jugular vein of the priest's neck, pulling strongly upon the life-sustaining fluid. It filled him with a giddiness no other kill had ever supplied. And that almost-sexual feeling became sexual in truth, as far as he could discern. Perhaps the Unnamed thought it even more horrifying for the priest this way? And then came the priest's flooding thoughts and memories of terror that were the true source of the Hunter's strength and the reason for his long hunts. But, the priest's visions weren't filled with a fear for the death that followed after him, nor of the possibility of inflicted pain. No, Damien's fear-driven thoughts surrounded the Hunter himself. In fact, the only fear of dying the priest possessed was that of dying before he could redeem the adept's soul! These emotions and visions and yet more poured forth into Tarrant's own soul and fed what he had denied the existence of now for many months. At that contact, the Hunter released the priest to fall to the ground, staring uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then turning it into a slow-building horror of realization. Damien's limp form hit the ground with a whoosh of air pushed from his lungs. The ever so shallow rise and fall of the priest's chest gave a barely perceptible indication of life. For a moment, Tarrant remained still as a glacier, thoughts and emotions filling his mind that were anathema to his being. Panic welled inside him, biding its time while he stood motionless and silent as the dead. And then he ran.

Damien woke to find Karril hovering over him, his worry evident in his fidgeting. Upon seeing the priest awake, he smiled broadly. "Thank the Gods, I wasn't sure he hadn't taken too much!" the beaming Iezu exclaimed. Damien groaned, pushing himself into a semi-sitting position. "Too much?" he repeated groggily. And then it all came slamming back into him. The hunt, the fight, the Hunter capturing him, feeding off him, and…running away? Seeing the thoughts race together in the priest's mind, the Iezu confirmed them, "Yes. You're remembering aright. And right now, I need you to focus on listening to me, Damien." The priest turned fully toward Karril as the Iezu spoke again, "Gerald has encountered something both terrifying and wonderful, and it is made all the more so by the fact that he understands none of it. You must go to him now, while he's still reeling from the revelation of it." Damien glanced around, not really understanding the meaning of Karril's words, noting that it was almost night again. If he was going to leave the Forest, it would have to be post-haste. He faced Karril again. "After all I have done for him and all we've been through together, he tried to kill me without so much as a by-your-leave. I had come here with the original thought to _help_ him. Tell me, demon, why should I not just leave this place for good? It's obvious I'm no match for him, and all I can do here is die. Those seem like poor choices to me. So why?"

The Iezu looked under great strain as he replied, as though he was talking around a subject he did not want to divulge much about. "Say simply that the Hunter has finally encountered something that may end up being his undoing…but not in the manner he is so very afraid of." Karril looked thoughtful for a moment, and then continued, "You know, there is always a way back to the light for those who believe. One of the greatest wonders of this planet is its ability to generate solutions for seemingly impossible situations. I _know_ there is one here for Gerald, it is only a matter of discovering it. For example, examine your human fairytales. There are so many things about those stories that were quite impossible on earth; but here, it is only a matter of the strength of one's belief and conviction. A person can believe in fairies here, and they will appear. Likewise, take the cliché of 'True Love's first kiss' as an even more specific case. By the rules of fairytales, it is purported that it can break any spell. Applied to someone in a coma, this could then produce some miraculous results," he explained. The Iezu glanced around quickly, "Please, that is all I can reliably say on the subject without breaking the power contained within Tarrant's self-revelation. Whatever the solution is, I am sure you can find it." And Karril thought to himself, _Both parties must reach the same conclusion on their own, or else all is for naught_. If Iezu had to breathe, then he would have been holding his breath as he awaited Damien's reply. The priest gazed back with restrained anger, but also with something else, something so very fragile. Hope. The priest climbed to his feet slowly and painfully. "Alright. So I'll take one more chance. I was beginning to feel as though I might live until tomorrow anyway, and I just can't have that."

Though Karril pointed out the direction to take in order to locate Tarrant, he did not follow. He told Damien simply that it must be him alone who confronts the adept. Anyone else thrown in the mix may end up confusing the issue. And as Damien left the small area, Karril remained for a bit before fading. He could do no more without ruining any of the possible outcomes. Softly, he whispered to himself, "Break any spell…or any curse."

And so the priest set off in search of the Hunter's daytime hideaway, hoping to find it before the sun set fully this fourth day in the Forest. _I'd really like to be the one who gets the upper hand in the initial confrontation this time. Smug bastard. _The trail was easy enough to follow, for the Hunter had been so frantic in his escape that he had not bothered with stealth or Obscuring. Broken branches and the odd bootprint were not the only trailmarkers the priest discovered. No, the most telling indicator of the hysteria that had gripped Tarrant was when Damien passed by the first of many large trees that had been split in twain. And as if that was not enough, he later found an enormous rock slab burst apart down the center, creating a trail just the size of a man to pass through…a very scared and very _human_ seeming man. Damien pondered this disclosure as he ventured ever deeper into the Hunter's realm.

Just as the sun was about to touch the treetops and vanish into the coming night, Damien found what he had been searching for. A slight opening in the side of a hill, framed by solid rock, could be seen to indicate the end of the trail. Glancing again at the position of the sun, he decided he still had perhaps 20-30 minutes in which to enter and position himself before Tarrant awakened to his presence. He unshouldered and readied his sword before heading in. _Hey, no need to be stupid about this_. He stepped up to the darkened space between the rocks in the hillside, took a deep breath, and plunged into the gloom.

What he found inside could be described as at once beautiful and terrifying. The Hunter lay in his death-like slumber, suspended above the floor perhaps a foot or so. His slender form was alight with flickering blue-white flames, slowly caressing along the length of his lean body as they nourished and replenished his blackened soul. His hair hung under him and floated about as if caught in an unseen wind created by the flames. Dark fae so thick that it was visible to the unWorked eye pooled around and underneath the adept, creating a nest of evil from which an icy chill rolled forth. The cold was so intense in fact, that Damien found his breath frosting in front of him. Not so with the Hunter's own still form he noticed. _I guess that solves __**that**__ particular mystery then_, he thought to himself.

Suspended between life and unlife, the Hunter was still truly a sight to behold, no matter the horror he inspired while awake. Damien continued to gaze upon him as he assessed the limited area for his best possible vantage point. He stepped lightly around to the right side of the adept, and suddenly found ice shooting up his left arm. Quickly looking down at his frozen extremity, he saw Tarrant's hand grasping it. From there, he looked to the angelic features, expecting to see eyes open wide with hatred. Instead, he saw that they remained closed. _What the…?_ he thought momentarily. And then those quicksilver portals snapped open, looking straight up at the ceiling at first, and then they whipped toward Damien. And upon making eye contact, Tarrant's concentration shattered as he let go of Damien's arm. The dark fae surrounding him vanished back into its normal visual spectrum, and the coldfire flickered once before shimmering into ice crystals fine as stardust. At which point, the only source of light had been extinguished, and the priest heard a hard thud and a grunt, which he could only assume was the Hunter falling a quick foot to the ground.

The light was gone for only a few seconds, though. Then, it flared into brilliance once again. The coldfire wreathed Tarrant like an angel of death. The look in his darkening eyes was indiscernible, unreachable, inhuman. Damien wondered if he truly had pushed it too far this time. _Maybe I should have left while I had the chance_. And then the adept blinked, gave a half shudder, and his eyes were once again the light silver Damien had grown to know so well. However, the stern and strained expression on Tarrant's visage did not inspire confidence that he was in the clear. With seemingly great effort, the Hunter forced out a question, "Why are you still _here_? You are free now. You must leave, and soon."

Damien took it as a good sign that they were at least beginning with what seemed to be a neutral conversation. "You know why I came, and I remain for the same reasons," he answered. To Damien's surprise, the adept made an exasperated sound, and the coldfire went out. Light reignited shortly thereafter, emanating from a few surrounding stones instead of the Hunter himself. Tarrant now sat with his back against the dirt and rock wall, knees bent with hands resting upon them, and his head thrown back against the wall so that he stared up at the ceiling. Damien approached the silent form slowly and then lowered himself to the ground beside the Hunter. They sat in silence for quite a few minutes before Tarrant broke the silence with a barely audible whisper, "Why, Vryce? _Why_ must you challenge everything? There are some truths in this world that are irrefutable, and I am committed to one of a most evil content. And _you_, to taunt me so with your humanity…" the adept trailed off with a sigh, then began again, "We reside on different sides of the battle lines this time, Vryce, and there is nothing for you here but your death. There is nothing you can try that others have not attempted already. I am what I am, and I will not change, certainly not just because some priest has taken it upon himself to personally see to my redemption." Tarrant looked down from the ceiling and turned to the side to face Damien, "There is nothing for you here. _Leave_, priest. Leave and live another day to fight your perceived evils of the world; just not this one. You have no idea the restraint I am forced to utilize at this very moment to check myself from finishing what I had started with this hunt."

Observing Tarrant's sincere expression, Damien read the tenseness in the Hunter's body language, took in the strain of how he was holding back the rising tide of his inner darkness, and withholding the soul-devouring nature of his very presence. And he appreciated the strength of will it must take to accomplish that type of mastery over one's natural conditioning of centuries of evil. There was such inner strength in this lost soul, if only someone could reach out to him. _There is always a way_. It's just a matter of finding the proper belief patterns.

Damien reached out to touch Tarrant's shoulder, hoping that the display of familiarity and showing no fear of his unnatural chill would convey more than the words he planned to start out with. But as soon as contact was made, he heard a sharp intake of breath, and then found himself pinned helplessly against the wall, his sword thrown far across the chamber. Tarrant had straddled the priest's extended legs and had each wrist pushed down far to Damien's sides. The world spun for a moment as Damien looked into the face of a monster, a killer, a creature so foul that his church had him unwritten from its texts…and he saw a desperate man, struggling against powers far more potent than anything he himself had ever gone up against. He saw potential, and he saw hope. And he also saw the death awaiting him at those lips, so very close. "Vryce, you push me very far, very far indeed," said the Hunter raggedly, barely holding back, sharpened canines clearly displayed. Damien could feel the darkness and fear wash out from the adept and onto his skin. It gave him chills, and his skin prickled in response.

Then, Tarrant shoved himself away from the wall and stood with his back to Damien, clearly attempting to regroup his control of the situation and his own body. Having come so close to death so many times in the last few years, and especially the last few days, must have lent Damien a certain recklessness, because he found himself standing and moving toward Tarrant. He stopped just short of him, took a steadying breath as the intensity of the Hunter's chill increased slightly due to proximity, and reached out to take hold of the other man's arm.

Damien had no way of recalling the series of events that occurred as a result of the miniscule contact made that time. His hand shocked back from the winter spell that permeated everything about the Hunter's body, then he attempted some form of parries and blocks towards the sudden onslaught of violence he found focused on him. His vest and shirt ended up ripped almost completely in half, hanging from one shoulder. His sword belt clattered to the floor with the next upstroke of the Hunter's hand. And very shortly, he found himself again with his back to the wall, standing this time at least, but nonetheless trapped. A trickle of fear shot down his spine and into the soles of his feet as he witnessed the malevolent change that had taken over Tarrant's body. "You. Go. Too. _Far_," rasped the adept, shaking violently from his efforts of restraint. The sheer strength contained within that slender frame was truly frightening. Tarrant reached up with both hands, grasping Damien's shoulders, and slammed him into the wall once, twice. Stars burst in the priest's vision, and his conscious thoughts drifted loosely through his head.

After a moment of silence and stillness, Damien opened his eyes again, looking into the face of the man he had hoped to save. Tarrant seemed to calm his body in the next few moments, and then took in a breath. "You will not stop. It is only in your nature. I suppose, then, that you _must_ die, Vryce," the adept said, suddenly quiet and looking towards the floor. Damien was unsure what scared him more, the Hunter being almost out of control, or the Hunter sounding perfectly calm. Tarrant looked from the ground to the priest's eyes, and all the evil and darkness of the centuries he'd born witness to shone forth for Damien to experience. And then he was slammed into the wall yet again, and his arms and chest were beaten by the steel-strong yet slender limbs of the blood-hungered adept as he thrashed the priest mercilessly. He heard a rib snap, and fell to his knees. A blow to the side of his head sent him onto the injured portion of his chest wall. He tried to breathe shallowly while lying there awaiting the end. And the Hunter was over him again, and he knew his time was done. Tarrant knelt beside him and grabbed his shoulders, twisting and throwing Damien onto his back with a whoosh of air forced free.

Gerald Tarrant hovered over his conquered prey, feeding on the sweet rush of fear pouring outward from the priest's soul. And just as the Hunter leaned quickly down to begin the life-draining process from the base of the defeated priest's neck, so too did Damien spasm in pain and unconsciously heave himself toward the same side the adept had aimed for. The result was a brief meeting of the two men's lips. And time…stopped. They froze in mid-motion, each so startled and unknowing of what exactly had just taken place. Tarrant pulled back first, relieving Damien of the feeling of ice freezing his throat. The Hunter stared at the priest in such a fashion that it would have been perceived as comical if the situation had not been so dire.

Damien tried hard to remain conscious and focused. He watched as the bewilderment in the Hunter's eyes changed to something else. What was it? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good for him. Surely his torment would be even worse now that _this_ little debacle had occurred. But the Hunter stared for so long that the priest began to wonder if he was not truly dreaming or unconscious. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and it was smothered by the first snow of winter. Or at least, that is how he could best think to describe the sudden sensation of the Hunter's mouth moving against his own. He could feel the tissue in his lungs slowly frosting with this extended contact. And he found himself picked up rather roughly and brought against a wall yet again. And the Hunter had a vice grip of one arm around Damien's exposed chest and back; the other was used to forcibly hold the priest's head still. _As if I could resist in the first place,_ thought Damien. And yet he found himself responding back to the Hunter's almost desperate kissing. He was lightheaded from exhaustion, injury, and loss of blood, but still he wondered at what was going on even as his body answered in harmony with the Hunter's actions. He felt a slow warmth growing within him. It was a warmth more of the heart and soul than of the body. Something inside him that had been ailing was attempting to regain strength. And the Hunter's lips felt oh so good against his own, like an enchantment of smooth skin and caresses. Cool lips soft as silk and desperate for attention, pointed canines blocking the way of his exploring tongue… _Ow!_ Damien thought as he nicked his tongue on one of those elongated teeth.

The taste of blood filled his mouth now and caused Tarrant to halt his kiss abruptly. The Hunter stopped completely and held very still for a moment with tightly shut eyes. Then he pulled away with a shiver, not of pain or disgust, but of the kind of tension that comes from sexual restraint. He recovered somewhat after a moment or two and whispered to Damien, "Careful, priest. I have my limits, and this may yet be a danger to you." An almost-smile crossed his face for a mere second, leaving Damien to wonder if it had ever even been there to begin with. And they hung there, suspended in time, faces within inches of each other. The revelation dropped upon them captivated each man's thoughts. Damien spoke after a long period of silence, using the simplest expression he could conjure, "What just happened?" He was feeling decidedly uncomfortable about the growing bulge in his trousers while in this intimate proximity to the Hunter. _God help me if he notices __**that**_, he thought.

Tarrant's eyes flicked up to stare into his before settling once again on Damien's lips as he answered, "I don't know. I don't know…but I feel…" The adept seemed lost for words as a sigh of frustration escaped his mouth, and in truth, so was Damien. _What the hell is going on? If I wasn't so dead tired, injured, and had a little more blood content, maybe I'd still have wits enough to be piss-scared_, he thought. But as it was, he felt, well, comfortable, safe. _**Safe?!**_ It was as if the very air they breathed had changed around them. It felt unreal almost, tinged with a dreamlike quality. Like it was something to be experienced only in the spirit, and so there were no words to describe it. How do you explain the beauty of a sunset to someone who has been blind since birth? The same concept applied here. There were simply no words to label this moment in time. It was magnificent. It was wonderful. It was…like magic, true magic.

Still staring in disbelief and longing down at Damien's lips, Tarrant whispered, "I do believe…I have just been defeated…and I'm not even sure of how, or if I care." His tone was laced with wonder. Damien replied, "Yeah, I kinda get the same thing on _this_ side of the battlefield, too." He shifted his arms to place them around the Hunter's waist and back, noticing the slight tension that ran through the adept's muscles as he did so. _Not feeling so safe yet yourself, are you?_ he mused. Of course, even though _he_ was caught by surprise, Damien couldn't imagine how it must be affecting someone so unused to prolonged intimate contact, or physical contact at all really. The Hunter spoke again, barely above whisper, "How did you do this, Vryce? All these years, and I have never _once_ come close to being compromised. And yet you have managed it in such a brief time. _How?_" Damien shook his head in commiseration and answered, "Don't think that I was looking for this, planned this. I don't even know how it's even possible. One moment I'm about to die, and the next I'm attempting to resolve emotions I was unaware of. Not exactly the most brilliant of ways to attack I'd think."

Tarrant huffed out a half-strangled, and slightly fear-laced laugh. "Oh, but it is. It _is_. Truly, you have given me a battle with which I have no weaponry to bring to bear. No defense. I am truly lost now. There is nothing that will hide this incident from the Unnamed. Nothing! And I am afraid it will not seek _my_ torment alone. _You_ will be made a part of the punishment as surely as I." The adept had let his hands slip from Damien's side and face, and now they began to encircle his own tall frame, as if to ward off something unseen. When he spoke again, it was as if he spoke to himself. "I have never experienced anything like this before. It is so peculiar, and I feel it warring with the darkness within me. So strange, yet so light. I cannot even begin to describe it. What is this you have done? What _is_ this?" the adept asked worriedly, appearing to be in deep concentration with his newly conflicting aspects. Damien stepped forward to close the bit of distance Tarrant had put between them, and then slowly, tentatively, he reached out and slid his arms back around the other man. Tarrant started again at the contact, but he relaxed quickly into the priest's embrace. Damien held the trembling man tightly, wanting to convey more security with his answer. He whispered into the Neocount's golden-brown hair with a conviction in his voice that carried through to the core of the other man, "It is love, Gerald." The adept stiffened in his embrace with the shock of understanding. He stayed that way, tensed within the encircling arms, for long minutes. Damien allowed him the time to gather his thoughts and fully comprehend the truth laid bare before him. Finally finding his voice again, the adept asked softly and with tentative desperation, "And is it worth dying for, this _love_?" Damien smiled into the silken strands and tightened his hold temporarily, "Yes," he whispered, and he felt it with all his being, and it resounded within the Hunter's heart as well.

And the fae rose up slowly at this intimate and powerful disclosure, surrounding the two of them, connecting the two of them. It seemed to be waiting for something, though. Not that either of the men noticed it because they had each drawn back a few scant inches and were looking each other in the eyes, the windows of the soul. Tarrant asked softly, "And _do_ you love me, Damien?" His throat constricting with emotion at hearing those words spoken aloud, and with all the seriousness in the world, Damien replied simply, "Yes." Then the priest returned an entreating look at the Hunter, Gerald Tarrant, his recent nemesis, and asked with trepidation, "And do you love me, too?" The question floated in the air between them, heavy with emotion. Tarrant seemed to be searching internally for something, and Damien tensed in expectation of some sort of rejection or anger or…whatever else the legendary Hunter could drum up on his vulnerable heart right at the moment. But Tarrant found whatever he sought inside and leaned forward to place a light kiss upon Damien's astonished lips. Looking him in the eyes, Tarrant's own shining forth like silver flame in the flickering coldfire light, the adept repied, "I suppose I do." And he leaned forward again and pulled Damien tightly against his chill body, whispering, "I do. I love you, Damien."

The fae then ceased its hovering and rushed headlong into the adept and priest. It filled them, enveloped them, and sustained them while it held them in stasis. Some period of time passed as the fae molded its modifications into their physical and spiritual beings, but at long last they were released from its hold. It swirled about them a few moments more, as if inspecting its work, and then it dissipated into the air. They each felt something had been both destroyed and rebuilt; and it hurt deeply, but in the most exquisite manner. Tarrant was the first to recover enough to speak, "What happened? I feel…strange. _Different_. As if I lost something…and yet gained something else." Damien thought long and hard before replying, trying to dredge up something that was tickling at the edge of his memory. Then, he smiled as the answer came to him. Karril was right after all. _I just can't take a hint_, he laughed at himself. Tarrant saw the smile and asked, "What is it? What are you hiding?" The dark fae responded to his will, and it wrapped Damien up and impressed on him a strong compulsion to divulge of his discovery. And just as he was about to give in, he thought to himself, _Nah, let him figure it out for himself. Smart-ass_. Sensing the new reticence and rebellion against his natural ability in the priest, Tarrant's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Damien, feeling he finally had the upper hand for once, simply smirked at the adept and said, "Let's just say, we both have a lot of learning to do; especially you." The Hunter stared daggers at Vryce for a minute before smiling with a secretive, and somewhat chilling expression. He then responded with, "On that one point, we are in agreement." And then his ice cool lips found Damien's again, and they were lost in each other's arms as the coldfire light winked out.

-_We are all mortal until True Love's first kiss sets us free_- Unknown

A/N: So I hope y'all enjoyed that one. These things take me by fancy as they come, never with any special preparations. I wanted a final confrontation between these two, but I also wanted an element of fairytale thrown in the mix, but not so much that it made the fic go totally off-kilter and become _completely_ unbelievable with sticky fluff. Very tricky to do, and not quite sure I accomplished it, but my schoolwork is not going to allow me any more time for thoughtful dreaming. So, this is what you get. If you liked it, great. If not, well, nobody's gonna like everything they read anyway. LOL!


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